Harry Potter, Scourge of Knockturn Alley
by littleme36
Summary: A little look at what might have been if Harry had been stolen... erm, I mean, found by a certain roguish cauldron smuggler the night he was left at the Dursleys.
1. Chapter 1

Another product of revision-madness! Currently a oneshot, but if people are keen and I find the necessary inspiration I may write more- I think a light-handed Harry would be make for quite an interesting Hogwarts career!

Please review!

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Harry Potter, Scourge of Knockturn Alley

Harry hovered around the end of the alley, waiting for the arrival of the next unsuspecting witch or wizard. He quickly checked his concealed pocket, which had been magically expanded to hold several stolen moneybags and other valuables under the pretence of straightening out his robes which had been carefully and painstakingly blackened with soot.

A few moments later, he spotted a dumpy witch with a tattered hat and rather dirty brown robes. She didn't look all too well off so Harry would normally have ignored her, were it not for the tell-tale clinking coming from her pocket, which, judging by the way her robes were hanging, it contained a rather heavy bag of money.

Harry quickly forced a flood of tears, and ran up to the woman, sobbing dramatically.

"Please Ma'am," he sobbed, the very picture of innocence, "I was coming to Diagon Alley with my Daddy and I think I said it wrong with the floo powder, 'cos now I'm lost and I don't know where I am and it's scary here."

He let himself trail off with a shuddering gasp and watched through his tear-studded eyelashes as the woman smiled at him kindly.

"Of course dear, I'll show you the way out. My name is Pomona Sprout, what's your name young man?"

"Rodger, Ma'am." Lied Harry, raising a hand to wipe away his tears.

"Well alright then Rodger love, it's this way back to Diagon Alley. Do you have any idea where your Daddy will be?"

"I don't know. Last time we were here he said to meet him outside Gringotts if I got lost, so there I guess."

The woman put her hand gently around his shoulders and began to lead him back towards the main street. Harry had been careful to manoeuvre himself round to the same side as the pocket containing her moneybag, and, under the pretence of turning to look around the alley, he cautiously slipped a hand into her pocket and lifted out the bag of galleons, stashing it quickly in the inside pocket of his robes. The whole manoeuvre took only a few seconds.

Quite oblivious to the fact that she had just been robbed, Mrs Sprout chatted merrily about her job working at Hogwarts School, exclaiming excitedly when Harry told her he would be starting next September. Privately though, he sighed with relief that his Dad insisted on putting several glamours on him before he went out on the streets each morning, as he did not fancy turning up at Hogwarts to find half the staff recognising him from when he had picked their pockets.

oOoOoOo

As he said goodbye to Professor Sprout outside Gringotts, having claimed to have spotted his Father going inside, Harry could not resist 'accidentally' bumping into a huge man with a long black beard who was just coming out of Hogwarts. As the man picked him up and dusted him off, apologising loudly, Harry slipped a sly hand into one of the man's many pockets, hoping he would get lucky and find something valuable.

He darted back into Knockturn Alley before the man noticed what he had done and slid the small package he had retrieved from the man's coat into his secret pocket.

Over the course of the day, Harry 'acquired' several more money bags. His proudest moment for that day, he decided, was when he had snatched two money bags simultaneously from a pair of redheaded boys, whilst pretending to show them to a joke-shop near the end of the alley.

oOoOoOo

That evening, Harry returned home to the dirty flat he lived in with his Dad, tucked in above an even dirtier bar. He sat on his bed and emptied his pockets of the days haul, separating it out into things he wanted to keep, and things he would give to his Dad. His Dad always took a chunk of the money he had taken to help pay their rent on the small flat. Tonight though, his dad was away for the evening, something about a shipment of black-market cauldrons, so he could keep a larger proportion of his 'earnings' for himself.

As he shifted through the numerous moneybags and purses, he came across something he had completely forgotten about- the item he had stolen from the big man outside Gringotts.

Harry tore open the paper around the package excitedly, his imagination calling up images of precious diamonds (that _had_ happened once) or some valuable magic artefact. He was disappointed to find that it was in fact just a small dark red stone. It was possible that it was some sort of gem, he thought as he absentmindedly polished it with his sleeve, but it didn't look like anything he had seen before, and his Dad had trained him from an early age to spot valuable gems, even when they were uncut.

He tossed it casually back onto the bed and it clinked as it landed on the large pile of money he had emptied out of all the money bags. He pushed it to one side and began to count out the money, sorting it into piles with a value of 5 galleons each. Suddenly though he froze as he noticed something strange about one of the knuts he was holding- it was the wrong colour. Instead of the usual bronze it was a shiny yellow colour, almost like- he bit into it and the soft metal gave under his teeth- gold!

His brain whirred, trying to work out why he had a gold knut- surely Gringotts wouldn't have made such a mistake… he gasped, reaching out to grab hold of the red stone he had so casually cast aside. He touched it to another of the knuts and grinned as its colour changed, spreading out from where the stone touched it. He tested it again- gold! He was going to be rich... this was the best birthday ever!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **

Due to popular(ish) demand... and also a continued flow of story ideas, I have decided to continue my Harry Potter, Scourge of Knockturn Alley series... here is the second chapter in the story, hopefully more will follow soon! I have also changed some of the first chapter slightly (and by this I basically mean added one sentence) to make it fit in better with canon/the timeline I had in my head (which I have included at the end of the chapter to avoid confusion). I apologise in advance for the (quite possibly extremely wrong) Latin that has been used in places in this chapter... blame google translate, and my lack of spell-invention talent :P

Please review!

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Mundungus Fletcher arrived home a few hours later than Harry that afternoon- he had no wrapped present, but proudly presented Harry with a voucher he had made out himself, which promised a very special present, which would arrive as soon as it was finished… and in the meantime, a gift of 10 Galleons of spending money for his trip to Diagon Alley the next day.

He then ducked out of the room briefly, returning with a muggle-style birthday cake in the shape of a wizard's hat. Next to it was a sorry looking lump of dough which he shamefacedly confessed to be his own attempt at making a cake. Harry poked at it a bit with a knife and managed to carve it into a passable mouse shape, which they then fed to a fluffy ginger cat which had just snuck in through the open door.

They stuffed themselves with cake for dinner and spent a pleasant evening discussing their 'achievements' that day, before Mundungus sent a reluctant Harry to bed, and slipped downstairs to the pub to celebrate his boy's birthday with a drink… or two…

By the time Mundungus Fletcher arrived back from the pub that night, Harry had long since fallen asleep. His precious red stone was stashed carefully behind a loose brick under the crumbling window frame where Fletcher wouldn't find it.

Stumbling slightly in his drunkenness, Mundungus perched himself unsteadily on the edge of Harry's bed and gazed fondly at the boy he had come to love as his son. Harry had fallen asleep with his glasses on again, so he reached out to slide them off, pausing as Harry stirred, sleepily aware of Mundungus' presence.

His fingers brushed the boys forehead, pushing back the dark hair where Harry's famous lightning-bolt scar was hidden and he sighed, getting up from the bed to take an anti-hangover potion out of the rickety cupboard by the door.

Tomorrow Harry was to meet a member of staff from Hogwarts who would show him round Diagon Alley and make sure he got the things he needed.

For several weeks now he had been preparing Harry for the role he would have to play. They had gone on excursions into the muggle world to learn the things Harry would need to know in order to pass as the confused, muggle-raised child he would be expected to have grown into. He had also been teaching him to perfect the wide-eyed look of surprise he would have to show every time he was confronted with 'new' magic.

Something very few people knew was that Mundungus Fletcher could be extremely organised when he had to be. A few days after Harry's birthday when he had received his Hogwarts letter, Mundungus had called up a few of his connections in the shady world of Knockturn Alley to make a trip to Privet Drive.

Petunia was having a lovely day. She had cleaned the house twice, been shopping for some lovely treats for her gorgeous Diddy Dumpling and, best of all, overheard an argument between the next-door neighbour and his wife. Would you believe it, the man had been having an affair with the secretary at his office- who was a _man_!

She hummed cheerfully along to the radio as she went upstairs with a small snack for Duddykins- Today was Vernon's birthday and they all would be going out for dinner together. The reservation at the restaurant was a little later than they usually ate, and she wouldn't want her little poppet going hungry.

She was just coming out of the kitchen after putting the rubbish from her precious little poppet's last snack in the bin when there was a smart knock on the door. She rushed to the door and opened it excitedly, expecting it to be her lovely husband. But the half formed 'Happy Birthday' died before it reached her lips as she took in the men standing on her doorstep.

At the front was a filthy looking man, a little older than her with straggly hair so grubby she struggled to determine the colour- though she was fairly sure it was ginger. She shuddered delicately at the thought that this disgusting man had touched her nice clean door.

The man, like the one accompanying him was dressed in a bizarre combination of clothing- he was wearing a grubby white shirt poked out from under a bright yellow rain mac (also grubby). He was then wearing tweed trousers and a pair of purple converses. He looked at her closely, then spoke gruffly.

"Petunia Dursley?"

Unable to form any words, she nodded, beckoning them to come inside- she didn't want these strange men to be seen on her doorstep. She resolved to get rid of them as quickly as possible before Vernon came home- he wouldn't be at all impressed with the odd turnout of these strangers.

"What do you want?" She finally managed to blurt out, staring in horror as the dirty man picked up one of the immaculate ornaments in the hallway and examined it closely.

"My name is Mundungus Fletcher. Yer migh' wanna sit down fer this. Don' mind if we invite ourselfs in." Having said that, he wandered into the living room, and Petunia had to stifle a squawk of dismay as he flopped down into Vernon's favourite armchair. That would take _hours _ to clean properly!

The other man kicked his feet up on the sofa, leaving darling Dinky's chair the only one free. Petunia perched gingerly on the edge of it, careful not to sink into the middle where her little Cherub had squashed the cushions beyond repair.

"Righ' then," began the man, "I'm Mundungus Fletcher. Tell me, wha' d'yer know 'bout 'Arry Potter?"

At that moment, Vernon walked through the door. Expecting to be greeted with birthday wishes by his wife, he paused for a moment in the hall, before locating her in the living room. He strode into the room, singing happy birthday to himself, before stopping dead as he noticed the other men sat on the sofas.

"Who's this?" He grunted, staring at the men with narrowed eyes. "I'm not buying anything."

"They've come to see us about… well, something about Harry Potter." Petunia replied- "You know, my… nephew." She added at Vernon's blank look.

"Oh, him. What about him? We're not taking him- he's probably a good-for-nothing freak like his parents were."

"If yer mean he's a wizard, then yeah he is, an' tha's why I'm 'ere-" Interupted Mundungus.

"We are _not_ giving that weirdo _anything_." Roared Vernon, before Mundungus could finish.

"Yeah alrigh' alright', jus' hear me ou' alrigh'?"

Petunia and Vernon sat, dumbstruck as Fletcher finished his story- someone- Dummleder or something- had tried to dump the Potter boy on them, apparently. Fletcher had found him left unceremoniously on their doorstep in the small hours of the morning on his way back from- well, he hadn't really been clear what. But if he hadn't decided to nick the brat, they could well have been stuck raising the little freak.

And now he was coming along begging to them because the boy was at the age where he'd be sent off to their freak school for learning more freakish behaviour, and this Fletcher wanted _them_ to pretend that it had been them raising the boy.

"Not a bleeding chance." Said Vernon, as soon as the man had finished talking.

"I reckon yer should think abou' tha' a bit more Dursley- it'd be much easier than the other option."

"Are you threatening me, sir?"

"Course no', jus' a bit o' friendly advice."

"Then there's no need to consider, I will not have anything to do with the brat."

"Alrigh' alrigh', plan B it is."

A wand suddenly appeared in the man's hand, and he shot two jets of light at the Dursleys, who yelled as ropes snaked around them, binding them to chairs that had zoomed into the room from the kitchen. Her sweetie pie of a son, who had come down to tell his parents off for interrupting his TV program quickly joined them.

"OK then, they're all yours." Said Fletcher over the sound of Vernon's furious shouting.

The Dursleys cowered as one of the other men approached him. He, too was dressed in a strange assortment of clothes- a purple velvet jacket and green flares, with a flamboyant ruffled shirt underneath. At least he seemed clean, Petunia thought- his blonde hair was enviably coiffed, with not even a hair out of place.

He pointed his wand at Vernon, and muttered something Petunia didn't quite catch- Vernon's face went slack and his angry voice faded suddenly away. The man then did the same to her poor baby and then Petunia-

"_Novum memoria eminens_" he murmered, and she felt her own body slacken as her brain took pause to await new instruction.

"_Concopulo eveniomemorium." _Now, there was a sense that a section of her mind was melding with the man sat next to her, and the boy on her other side.

"_Ausculto."_ Petunia's attention was riveted on the men in front of her. The one with dirty hair stepped forwards.

"On the morning of the 1st of September you found Harry Potter, your nephew on your doorstep when you went out to get the milk. He had this note with him." He gave Petunia a note written on a thick sheet of paper in iridescent black ink.

'Dear Petunia Dursley and family,

I t is my regretful duty to inform you that your sister and her husband were killed earlier this evening.

They had been involved in a war waging in the wizarding world against the dark wizard Lord Voldemort, who sought to eradicate muggles and muggleborn witches and wizards.

Last night, Lord Voldemort managed to break the protective enchantments on their house, and broke in where he killed them both. However, for reasons which I have not yet entirely fathomed, he was unable to kill young Harry. The curse he used on Harry was turned back on him, and appears to have killed him instead. This has made Harry extremely famous amongst the witches and wizards of the light, and puts him in great danger of attack from Dark witches and wizards.

It is for this reason that I must ask you to take him in and raise him as your own- through your relation to his Mother, you share Harry's blood. Using this connection it will be possible to place a magical protection on your house to ensure that none who wish him ill can find him. I must reassure you that this protection will also extend to your own family, should someone come looking for the child.

This magical protection will expire on Harry's 17th birthday, until which time he must reside here for at least a few weeks each year- long enough that he considers this house to be his home. If this condition is not met, it would put both him and the rest of your family in danger. Many people will assume that he has been sent to live with you, and may try to seek you out to gain some knowledge of his whereabouts. This arrangement will protect you and your family just as much as it protects Harry.

May I offer my most sincere condolences on the death of your sister.

Sincerely,  
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore  
(_Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards, Chocolate Frog card No. 136_)'

With shaking hands, Petunia passed the letter on to her husband who read it through, his face reddening as he read. Fletcher spoke again as he finished the letter.

"You took the boy, and raised him. This is now the truth. _Hoc est autum verum._"

Petunia suddenly felt a strange rush as her mind accepted the 'memory' and fabricated new memories as a result of it. The blond man stepped forward again and raised his wand, swirling it in a loop to capture the three of them.

"_Prae se fero_."

Mundungus watched with mounting anger as the life his almost-son could have had played out before him, projected straight out of the Dursleys minds. In their new memories, the Dursleys argued furiously about what to do with the boy left on their doorstep, eventually agreeing bitterly that they would have to keep him. The baby grew up with only the minimum of attention needed to make him look presentable, whilst their biological son was lavished with attention. Almost as soon as Harry was able to move himself around he was set to cleaning the house. Once he was tall enough to use the stove they had him cooking for them- that at the age of 8. All the while, he was kept in the tiny dark cupboard under the stairs and ignored unless he was needed, or had cried for so long he was hoarse.

When his Hogwarts letter arrived, they ran halfway across the country to try and escape them- convinced that if they could somehow stop Harry from getting his letter, his 'freakishness' would eventually go away.

Here Fletcher interrupted-

"When you were at the hotel, the manager who tried to give Harry the letter decided it wasn't right of you to withhold it from him, so he made sure to sneak a copy of the letter to Harry. Harry then managed to contact Hogwarts through the muggle postal system and arrange to meet up with a member of Hogwarts staff to visit Diagon Alley."

The projected images changed- Harry was punished for contacting Hogwarts behind the Dursleys' backs with several weeks spent in his cupboard with nothing but meagre amounts of cereal to eat and water to drink- the Dursleys were now hoping that if he was weak enough he would be unable to perform magic and be kicked out of the school. That would be a problem- though skinny, Harry was far healthier than he would have looked coming from a life with the Dursleys- and Mundungus was not prepared to starve his boy just to make a cover story.

"A neighbour noticed the boy was looking rather too thin and commented on it to you. After that you made sure to feed him better." His voice was little more than a growl.

Harry was still in the cupboard though- and as if to compensate for having to feed him, the tiny space was stripped of anything non-essential. Harry was made to spend nearly 24 hours a day in near-complete darkness, with nothing but a mattress on the floor, a ragged blanket and a pillow with half the stuffing hanging out.

The blond man quietly performed one last spell to cause the Dursleys to continue constructing mutual memories of Harry living with them, and then stepped back.

His hand shaking with such anger he could barely hold him wand straight, Mundungus knocked out the Dursleys with a stunning curse and propped them up in their chairs, arranging them as if they had just been watching television.

He cut a large chunk of hair from each of them, sealing them in small plastic bags he had bought in a muggle shop. As a final measure, he placed an undetectable charm on the doormat as he walked out the door to severely trip anyone by the name of Dursley who walked across it- hopefully there would be more than one trip-each- to casualty before they got rid of it.

The next few days passed in a blur of memory charms and the careful construction of a virtually watertight backstory for the boy-who-lived. They visited the homes of the teachers he would have had in school, the pupils he would have been in classes with, the neighbours on his street- even a few cashiers from the nearest supermarket, so that all of them would be able to remember the young dark-haired boy who lived with the Dursleys (or, as many knew them, 'that snobby family down the street with the massive kid.')

The hardest person to find was the manager from the hotel who had, supposedly been instrumental in getting Harry his Hogwarts letter. He had long since moved on from work in the hotel, and after a long and incredibly dull paper trail, they found him working as a janitor at a youth camp in the New Forest. Their work was complete.

The morning he had arranged to meet the person from Hogwarts, Harry woke up with light pouring through the cracked shutters on the window- as usual. His Dad was still passed out on his own bed, an empty flask of anti-hangover potion sat right next to the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the shelf over his bed- as usual. Being careful to keep quiet, he wriggled the loose brick out from under the windowsill- sure enough, his magic stone was still safely tucked away where he'd left it- as usual.

Grinning, he put the brick back and rolled out of bed. His feet thumped on the floor, causing Mundungus to snort in surprise before rolling over and continuing to sleep. Harry went into their small bathroom and got in the shower. He took his time washing, knowing that the groans and screeches coming from the hot-water pipes would soon rouse his dad.

He wandered out of the bathroom several minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist, and let out a shout of surprised laughter as he spotted his Dad staring miserably into a muggle coffee flask, dressed in a floral dress which was much too tight for him.

"Shuddup" Grunted Mundungus, "Take a look at this."

He held out the flask – inside it was a liquid Harry had never seen before- it seemed almost thinner than water, and yet it was a pale yellow colour that made it look like slightly gone-off milk.

"You gotta drink that?" He asked in disgust. "Why?"

"S'my disguise. It'll make me look like yer Aunt Pet-oo-ni-a" He pronounced the name slowly, as if it were distasteful to him.

"Go on then." Urged Harry with a grin. "Let's 'ave a look at you!"

Mundungus threw him a glare, pinched his nose and took a large gulp of the potion.

"Ugh." He shuddered, grimacing. "Tastes 'bout as gross as it looks."

Harry stared as his Dad's skin began to bubble. The too-tight dress seemed to let out a sigh of relief as he shrank inwards until it hung loosely off his new bony frame, the buttons no longer straining across his chest. His hair receded back into his head and changed colour and his eyes changed to a pale watery blue. Mundungus pointed his want at it and grudgingly muttered a charm which made it puff out to an immaculate bob which just about managed to add some volume to the wispy blonde hair. He now looked exactly like one of the photos of Aunt Petunia that Harry had seen.

"Get a bleedin' move on then." He barked- Mundungus' uncultured accent sounding very strange in the shrill voice of the woman. He picked up a large handbag and stuffed the flask containing the rest of the polyjuice potion inside it. "I ain't staying like this a minute longer than I 'ave to."

A couple of days before he was due to meet the person from Hogwarts, Mundungus had sent another letter allegedly from Petunia saying that they would drop Harry at the Leaky Cauldron, which she knew the location of having gone there with Lily as a girl- they didn't want any weirdoes showing up on their front drive- just imagine what the neighbours would think! This made it much easier for Mundungus to play his part as Aunt Petunia, because he could just dump Harry at the Leaky Cauldron and leave. The polyjuice potion was really just a precaution.

Harry scrambled to get ready. He pulled on a pair of muggle trousers (jeans, he reminded himself) and a top, both of which were ridiculously big for him, and followed his Dad out the door, casting one last glance back at the spot under the windowsill where his magic stone was still safely hidden.

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**A/N:**

And now the timeline:

24th July (approx)- Harry receives Hogwarts letter (I tried to work this out by working backwards in the relevant chapter of the Philosopher's Stone, so it may be wrong... but for this purpose, it'll do!

25th July- Mundungus goes to dursleys. Sends reply to Hogwarts via muggle post (because Harry allegedly has no access to an owl) arranging to meet a Hogwarts staff member on 1st August

31st July- Harry sees Hagrid in Diagon alley and nicks stone. Hagrid still picked up the stone on the 31st of July even though he was not in  
Diagon Alley with Harry because Dumbledore was anxious to get the stone to Hogwarts as soon as the protections were ready- which they now were!)

1st August- Harry meets Hagrid in diagon alley


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **  
Me: So, Here it is! After many months of waiting there is FINALLY another chapter.

You: Yaaay! Oh wait, this measly little thing? Rubbish.

Me: Well, dear reader, let's call this a stop-gap. This is a little filler I wrote aaages ago but didn't want to upload until I had something a little more substantial to go with it. And lo and behold, I do!

You: Smashing, tell us more!

Me: Oh alright then. It's a whopper chapter covering Harry's whole trip to Diagon Alley, and currently stands at 3400 words. OK so maybe it's not HUGE, but given that the other chapters have only been about a thousand words.. that's triple value people! It's currently being edited, so I'll hopefully have it up here either later this evening, or tomorrow morning.

You: OoooOOOooo... I should totally review to encourage you.

Pardon my insanity. Moving on...

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Albus Dumbledore was having a terrible day. Fawkes had been reborn today, and he had managed to fall off his stand during the burning and singe Dumbledore's antique Persian rug. And as if that wasn't enough, the 'new' Fawkes had made such a fuss emerging from the ashes that he had fanned them up all over the place, and now everything in the room- including Dumbledore's long beard- was coated in a fine layer of ash. Phoenix ash was notoriously difficult to clean.

Then, when he was in a floo call to Severus asking about phoenix ash removal methods, Hagrid had suddenly burst into the office, startling him so much he toppled forwards into the fireplace and ended up head-butting Severus in the face as he fell through the floo connection. Severus had refused to help him as a result, so now he was sat in his huge bathtub desperately scrubbing at his beard whilst he tried to puzzle out the very worst problem of the day.

Hagrid had lost the stone. They had tried to work out the identity of the thief, but the only suspect they could come up with was the young blond boy who had bumped into Hagrid on the steps of Gringotts. Pomona had reported that she had been robbed of the money she had drawn from the school vault, and again, this blond-haired boy seemed to be the main suspect. However, after a few investigations, he proved to be completely untraceable- even for Dumbledore. Apparently he had told Pomona that he would be attending Hogwarts that year, but none of the incoming first year boys matched his description, so it seemed that he had been using a glamour, a fake back-story, or even both. No-one on Knockturn Alley seemed to know the boy, except to report that they had also been robbed by him. Even Mundungus Fletcher – Dumbledore's main contact in the underworld – claimed not to know the boy.

What was he going to tell Nicholas? He had promised the stone would be safe with him, and yet, he had managed to lose it within ten minutes of taking it out of Nicolas' vault.

And what would become of his plan to trap Lord Voldemort? Tempting his shadow with the chance of returning to life wouldn't work very well without any bait…

Unless…

The only people who knew of the stones disappearance were himself and Hagrid- and he was sure Hagrid would agree to keep that little problem under wraps. He would simply act as though they had never lost the stone. The newly finished protections for the stone would be kept in place, and he would carefully place all the necessary clues for the Dark Lord's agent to see- if his suppositions were correct, Lord Voldemort's agent had already noticed hints of the stones presence.

Yes… really, this was even safer, because there wasn't even any chance of Tom actually getting hold of the stone.

Perfect.

-Ish.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:  
**Voila! Big long(er) chapter! Sorry this isn't exactly morning, but I didn't get up til late, and there was a cute baby distracting me, who I suspect may be part mandrake judging by how he cries.

Happy Easter everyone! How about a review as a present?!

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Stood outside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry watched his 'Aunt's' retreating figure with growing apprehension. He was on his own now, with whoever was sent from Hogwarts to look after him. He peeked in the door of the pub nervously, trying to spot someone who looked like a teacher that might be waiting for him. Seeing no-one who looked as though they were expecting someone, Harry instead began to scan the crowd, mentally evaluating who would be the easiest to 'relieve' of their belongings.

The 'winner' – or perhaps loser – of his little game was a batty looking woman sat at the bar with a large glass of sherry, and an even larger teacup, which she was staring into intently, muttering to herself and occasionally shaking her head. The woman was so involved in the bottom of her teacup that Harry suspected she wouldn't have noticed if he'd removed every one of the sparkling bangles from her wrists. Just as Harry was genuinely considering wondering past and 'accidentally' snagging the gauze (really, gauze? That was just begging to go missing) moneybag from where it hung precariously on the witch's glittering belt, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Were it not for the weight of the hand, which was huge, Harry was sure he would have jumped about a foot off the ground. However, that was nothing compared to the shock he felt as he turned around and found himself staring into the big, hairy face of the man he had relieved of that amazing magical stone outside of Gringotts.

"Alrigh'? Yeh mus' be Harry yeah?" The giant was practically beaming at him. "Blimey yeh look like yer Dad. Mum's eyes though. Yeh know, las' time I saw yeh, you was just a baby… tiny li'l thing yeh was, could fit yer right in my 'and."

Harry could easily believe that, the man was ginormous! He wouldn't be surprised if he still fitted in the man's hands today.

"Yeah, I'm H-Harry." He managed to stammer out. "Sorry but… er, who are you?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Jus' call me Hagrid."

He held out a hand for Harry to shake, his thick fingers easily wrapping round Harry's whole forearm.

"What d'yeh say we get on with it then?"

He moved aside to let Harry enter the pub first, following closely behind him. The pub went quiet as Harry and Hagrid walked in, and Harry was suddenly grateful for the huge presence of Hagrid behind him. He ducked his head as Hagrid greeted a few people he seemed to know, praying he wouldn't be recognised.

No such luck.

"The usual, Hagrid?" came a voice from behind the bar.

"Can't Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid cheerfully, clapping Harry on the shoulder and almost knocking him to the ground.

As he struggled to regain his balance, Harry's eyes met with those of the wizened old barman, who was staring at him curiously.

"Bless my soul," the old man gasped, "Harry Potter… what an honour."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the barman rushed out to meet him- oh Merlin, he was practically crying. He really wasn't _that_ exciting.

In the rush of greetings and overly-emotional 'thank-yous' that followed, it was all Harry could do not to pick a few of the blatantly presented pockets – but he resisted. It would not do for 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' to be discovered as a common thief.

He caught Hagrid's eye with an expression which – he hoped – looked like an overly shy boy desperate for an escape. It seemed to work, as Hagrid instantly cleared his throat importantly and began to push through Harry's crowd of well-wishers until they got to the back door of the Leaky Cauldron.

Finally tumbling out of the door, Harry did his best to plaster a bewildered expression across his face – as if he honestly thought the dingy courtyard behind the pub was nothing more than a place to keep the dustbins. This turned to genuine curiosity, however, when instead of a wand, Hagrid pulled out a large pink umbrella. Misinterpreting his shock at the umbrella's unexpected appearance, Hagrid smiled at him kindly.

"Yer famous, Harry. I imagine yeh already know yer story an' all, but I'm guessin' tha's the firs' time yeh've really 'ad ter deal with it?"

Harry didn't have to work hard to inject a slight tremor into his voice.

"Yeah, it's kinda weird. The Dursleys mostly just ignored me, so it's a bit…" he trailed off, knowing Hagrid would understand. It really was overwhelming. If that level of interest was going to follow him to Hogwarts, he would never have a moment's peace.

Hagrid's face crinkled sympathetically and he reached out to pat Harry's shoulder supportively – nearly knocking him into one of the dustbins.

"Here, this'll cheer you up," he said as he turned to the blank wall beside them. He tapped out the usual pattern on the bricks with his ridiculous umbrella, and the archway to Diagon Alley opened up before them. Again, Harry did not have to fake his amazement, as the archway was several times bigger than normal, having obviously grown to accommodate Hagrid's enormous size. Hagrid chuckled softly at his face, and signalled for him to follow as he waded out into the crowded alley.

It really was a lot easier moving through the alley with Hagrid, his huge bulk cutting a wide swathe through the crowds of shoppers who scrambled out the way as if they genuinely thought they might be crushed. Trotting along in Hagrid's wake, Harry realised with relief that most people were so busy staring at Hagrid that they hardly even noticed him. He took the back of Hagrid's coat in one hand, and glanced around him at the shops, feigning a flustered fascination with all the magic that surrounded them.

A few moments later, as he craned his neck to look back at the window of the Owl Emporium, he smacked gracelessly into Hagrid's back, realising too late that they had stopped outside Gringotts bank. He looked up at the imposing building and allowed Hagrid to nudge him up the steps, hiding his feelings of guilt as he remembered the last time he had been with Hagrid outside Gringotts. As they passed through the first set of doors and he read the verse engraved on the inner doors, he read the lines promising doom and gloom to any and all thieves and his stomach twisted painfully. Consoling himself weakly that he had no intention of stealing _directly_ from the bank (relieving the bank's customers of their recently withdrawn money wasn't _really_ the same thing… was it?), he followed Hagrid through the doors, and across to one of the free goblins at the long marble counter over to one side of the hall.

"Morning," said Hagrid, "we've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's safe."

The goblin peered down at Harry, and he forced himself not to shrink under his piercing gaze.

"You have his key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid. He started to empty out his many pockets, placing their contents unceremoniously on the counter as the goblin watched disapprovingly. As one pocket yielded a handful of mouldy dog biscuits, another, what looked like some sort of bird pellet, and yet another, a large coil of twine and a small fluffy pouch, Harry became increasingly incredulous that he had managed to take anything of value from this man.

Eventually, Hagrid gasped in realisation and reached inside the pouch, pulling out a small golden key.

"Got it!" he announced proudly, slamming the key down on the counter, and sweeping the rest of the debris back into his pockets.

"Thought I'd keep it somewhere safe, managed ter lose summat the other day, didn't wan' ter do tha' again y'know," he added as the goblin at the desk called over one of his colleagues to take them down to Harry's vault.

Harry's stomach twisted again, growing heavy with guilt as he realised that Hagrid was talking about the magic stone he had taken from him just a few days before. Pushing his guilt down, he followed Hagrid and the goblin through a small door and into a cart.

Logically, he knew that his light-fingered way of life would cause other people considerable trouble, but he had never actually been faced with one of his victims before, and now he couldn't deny that possibly the most valuable thing he had ever stolen had been taken from the unsuspecting pocket of possibly the nicest man he had ever met… It threw a new light over his illicit activities that he wasn't entirely happy with.

The ride down to his vault was exhilarating, and Harry quickly forgot his crisis of conscience. He had never been inside the bank before, and he wooped excitedly as their cart sped through the underground caverns. Hagrid sat tensely in the middle of the cart, and, judging by the greenish tinge to his face, he wasn't enjoying the ride anywhere near as much as Harry. As much fun as the ride was, Harry had to admit that his nausea wasn't totally unwarranted. He was sure there must be some sort of sticking charm keeping them in their seats, and suddenly felt a new appreciation for the magic stopping them from being plunging out of the cart onto the rocks below.

As soon as he saw the contents of his vault, Harry made a mental resolution not to tell his Dad too much about it. Harry loved his surrogate Father, but he also knew what he was like. He was sure that if Mundungus Fletcher found out about this money, it would all be spent on booze and whores and dodgy black-market deals before you could say billywig.

He only half listened to Hagrid's explanation of how the wizarding monetary system worked, instead scooping a few piles of galleons into his money bag, and, when he was sure Hagrid wasn't looking, a few more coins into his pockets. Their goblin companion's eyes narrowed as he noticed Harry's manoeuvre, but, seeing Harry looking at him, he acquiesced with a nod that since it was actually Harry's money, he couldn't really complain. Harry grinned back, and bounced cheerfully out of the vault. Hagrid spent most of the journey back to ground level with his eyes closed, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to sneak a few galleons into his pockets as some small compensation for the valuable stone he had previously removed from them. He was well aware that what he had returned was nowhere near the worth of the stone, but it eased his conscience slightly to at least give something back.

After leaving Gringotts, Hagrid wandered off to the Leaky Cauldron, leaving Harry to get his robes by himself. The shop was thankfully fairly quiet, with only a few other customers browsing the racks of dress-robes, simpering about some ministry ball they were attending later that month. Just as Madam Malkin finished measuring his robes, Hagrid appeared in the window with two enormous ice-creams. Harry quickly paid, and hurried outside with his bulky parcel of robes, which he eagerly swapped with Hagrid for one of the delicious ice-cream cones.

"Hagrid," he began as they finished off their cones outside the next shop, "When I was in the robe shop, Madam Malkin said the robes were charmed to change after I was sorted into my house. What did she mean?"

Of course, he already knew about the house system, but he figured the Harry he was pretending to be would have been curious about it.

"Well Harry, when yer get ter Hogwarts yeh'll be sorted in ter one o' four houses. Won' tell yeh how, tha's a surprise." He winked, and Harry tried to look nervous. "Anyway, the houses are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw an' Hufflepuff. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but I reckon they're alrigh'. Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin anyway. There ain't a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

Again, Harry tried to look nervous, but he had a feeling his Dad might have been in Slytherin, so he couldn't help sticking up for him a little.

"But surely there must be at least some good people in Slytherin too? They can't just put all the bad people in one house… or if they could, why not just chuck them all out as soon as they were sorted? But how would they know who's really bad anyway, if people are only sorted when they're eleven?"

Hagrid chuckled.

"Right yeh are Harry. Yeah I spose I'm bein' a bit unfair. Slytherin's famous for taking those with ambition, an' it's often the house the pureblood maniacs go into, so it's go' a pretty dodgy reputation."

Harry decided that muggle-raised Harry wouldn't know what pureblood meant, so he asked about that, and continued to ask what he thought were relevant questions as they bought his quills and parchment and potions ingredients.

"Blimey, Harry, yer full o' questions. Why don' yeh get a few extra books in here Harry, migh' help ter answer a few o' yer questions what I can't help yeh with." Said Hagrid as they entered Flourish and Blotts.

Harry browsed for a while, picking out books he thought would be useful for a magic-newbie, figuring that they'd be useful anyway for him to check what someone new to magic might ask about. He also picked up a wizarding book on muggles, claiming that he was curious about how muggles were seen by wizards. A girl nearby with big teeth and bigger hair heard him explaining to Hagrid, and immediately dragged her own obviously muggle parents over to the Muggle-studies section to do the same.

The apothecary was fascinating, and Hagrid practically had to drag Harry out after purchasing his basic first year student's ingredients. He more than made up for it though, when he took a meekly protesting Harry into the Owl Emporium, and bought him a beautiful snowy owl as a late birthday present. Their last stop for the afternoon was Ollivander's Wand shop, and Harry was incredibly excited about the prospect of getting a wand of his own – if a little disappointed that he wouldn't be able to use it for a few more weeks. Mundungus' wand was ill suited for him, so in all the times he had nabbed it from his Dad he had never been able to produce more than a couple of dull sparks.

Just entering the shop dampened Harry's enthusiasm a little – Mundungus had warned him about the dusty atmosphere of the place, but he had never imagined that a place where so many young witches and wizards first experienced their magic could feel so… dull. Under the suffocating stillness of the shop though, was a tingling sensation that sent a shiver down his spine – the whole shop, every dusty shelf and nondescript brown box and faded purple cushion was heavy with a layer of magic even thicker than the layer of dust. How could there be so much dust anyway? Surely at this time of year when all the beginners at Hogwarts were getting their first wands, there would be enough traffic through the shop to stop the dust settling… Harry supposed it may be intentional, in an attempt to add a sense of mysticism to the shop.

"Good afternoon."

His musings were interrupted by a voice from behind the counter. He jumped, and heard Hagrid do the same behind him. How had he not noticed the man before – he seemed to have appeared out of thin air. He was sure he hadn't been there a moment ago when he'd been examining one of the (dusty, of course) display cases.

"Er… Hello." He said, shifting awkwardly. The man's pale eyes made him feel very uncomfortable, as if he had just been caught with his hand in someone's pocket.

"Ah yes. Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter. You have your Mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Harry cursed his hair as the man moved closer. No matter how long he grew it, his fringe refused to stay flat on his forehead, so it was near-impossible to hide his tell-tale scar. Of course, no doubt this man would have recognised him anyway.

Mr Ollivander moved even closer as he recited the details of Harry's father's wand, and Harry couldn't help but feel like he was being stalked by a large, albino predator. He wondered idly if he revised the parentage of each new student leading up to the start of the new school year. The pale man just seemed to have too good a memory – surely there was no way he could _really_ remember every wand he'd ever sold?

Though admittedly it wasn't really any surprise that he remembered You-Know-Who's wand. You'd think anyone would remember giving a weapon to a psychopathic murderer – though of course, he couldn't have known at the time. Yew, thirteen and a half inches… Merlin, it even sounded sinister.

He relaxed marginally as Ollivander's attention was momentarily distracted as he began to interrogate Hagrid instead. He noted how Hagrid clutched his pink umbrella when Ollivander asked about his broken wand. That was interesting. Not only because it must mean that if his wand was broken Hagrid must have been expelled from Hogwarts, but also because it seemed to imply that wands – even broken ones – could still be used when concealed in something else, which would prove exceedingly useful if you wanted to hide your wand for one reason or another…

He mechanically waved the dozens of wands he was plied with by Ollivander, knowing straight away that none of them were right – they felt just as unreactive in his hand as Mundungus'. Finally, just as he was almost beginning to worry that he would never find a wand, he took one, 'Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple,' apparently, which instantly warmed in his hand. He straightened up, suddenly excited, and waved it vigorously. A bright trail of red and gold sparks followed the tip of his wand as he swished it through the air, and Hagrid applauded cheerfully as he twisted it in spirals and waves. Ollivander was similarly impressed, but began to mutter softly as he put the wand back in its box and packed it up for Harry to take home.

"Curious…" he muttered… "Curious indeed."

Knowing he would probably regret asking, but unable to resist, Harry asked,

"Sorry, but _what's_ curious?"

He froze as Ollivander's misty stare landed on him, pinning him to the spot.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed. Yep, he definitely regretted asking.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand choses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter… After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Harry held himself back from replying, not entirely sure how he could respond to someone who would refer to anything You-Know-Who did as 'great,' no matter what context it was in. He quickly paid for his wand, and hurried from the shop.

oOoOoOo

In his letter from Petunia to Professor Dumbledore, Mundungus had specified that Harry would be taking a train back from London, and would be picked up from the station at the other end. So Harry and Hagrid took the Underground to Waterloo Station, where Harry introduced Hagrid to the wonders of McDonalds food whilst they waited for his train. Naturally Hagrid's size drew some incredulous looks, as did his order of several burgers and three dozen chicken nuggets. Fortunately he had brought some muggle money with him, as Harry was sure he would not have had enough money to pay for the food and his train ticket.

Before he left, Hagrid gave him his Hogwarts express ticket and a suffocating hug goodbye, then helped him get his trunk and his new owl's cage onto the train. Manfully ignoring the strange looks he got, Harry sat down on his trunk and waved to Hagrid as the train pulled out of the station.

Getting off at the next stop, this time without a friendly giant to help him lug his heavy trunk around, he was met by his 'Aunt Petunia,' who, keeping in character sniffed at his beautiful owl and tutted impatiently as he struggled slowly out of the station. As soon as they were out of the station though, she grabbed one end of his trunk and helped him to drag it round the corner, where she apparated them back to their poky flat, the bright floral dress looking suddenly out of place amongst the dirty furnishings.

* * *

**A/N: **  
I can't promise that there won't be a bit of a delay before the next chapter, since I'm technically supposed to be revising at the moment, not writing fanfiction... I'll get the next bit up as quick as I can!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

Me: Hooray another chapter! This one's even longer, cos I couldn't really stop in the middle of the Hogwarts Express journey now could I!

You: Hooray another chapter! This one's even longer, I sure am glad she didn't stop in the middle of the Hogwarts Express journey. I should leave a review so  
she'll write EVEN MORE next time!

Me: Yes, yes you should!

* * *

The next few weeks before the start of school passed in a blur of books, illicit practising of spells, and even more illicit picking of pockets. Mundungus had decided for once to act like a responsible parent, and stipulated that Harry spend at least an hour every day reading his new books. Except _Hogwarts, a History_.

"You'd be wastin' yer time 'arry," he said, "ain't no-one who actually reads tha' book."

However, flicking through the index one day whilst he waited for his hour of reading to be up, Harry noticed that there were a few references to secret passages and trick architecture included when the castle was first built. This piqued his interest enough that in the next few days he devoured the book, and even took a few notes as Mundungus looked on incredulously.

One advantage of all the reading he was having to do was that it improved his somewhat rudimentary reading skills to the point where he could scan through a chapter in just fifteen minutes – less if it was a short one.

After reading through _Hogwarts, AHistory _and realising that several of his books actually had some useful stuff in them, Harry took considerably more interest in his studies. He was particularly interested in the properties of potions ingredients, seeing how several of them combined to produce some very interesting effects. One of the potions he would be brewing in his first year was a forgetfulness potion, which he could see being very useful. All he would need to do was slip a bit of the potion in someone's pint, and they would assume they had just 'forgotten' their moneybag in the pub, never suspecting that it had in fact been cut from their belt by a sneaky pair of hands.

He also rather liked the idea of charms. Of course, he already knew there was such a thing as an unlocking charm, but now he knew the incantation too – he would be unstoppable. Of course, the book had mentioned that locks could be warded against Alohomora, but he was willing to bet that a lot of people didn't bother. People were lazy, that was just a fact.

oOoOoOo

Before he knew it, it was the first of September, and Harry was stood in the middle of his and Mundungus' room impatiently waiting for his Dad to finish fussing over him. It was another of those rare moments when his Dad actually acted like a parent. He had tried several times to tidy Harry's unruly hair, and attempted fruitlessly to straighten the collar on his vastly oversized polo. He couldn't accompany Harry to the platform, as the backstory they had constructed would require him to arrive at the station alone. As a result of this, they were having to say their last goodbyes before Harry took his (highly illegal) portkey to Kings Cross station.

"Take care, alrigh'." Said Mundungus gruffly, his eyes strangely misty. "Keep a low profile, yeah? Don'. Get. Caught."

He sniffed, and wrapped Harry in a hug.

"Arrigh', you best ge' off. Reckon I'm sposed ter tell ye to be good, but ain't exactly our style, is it? I'll miss you, kid. You be careful."

Harry nodded into his Dad's chest, then took a firm hold of all his luggage, and whirled away with his portkey.

oOoOoOo

Landing in a heap in an alley outside the station, Harry quickly dragged his trunk and his owl, which he had named Hedwig's cage over to a trolley and piled them on top of it. Pushing it through the busy station, he cursed his Dad as he realised that he had intentionally neglected to tell him how to get to Platform 9 and three quarters. Knowing he had done it to force him to act like a clueless muggle-raised boy, he pushed his trolley up to one of the station guards and tried to ask about the platform, despite knowing full well that the guard wouldn't have a clue what he was on about.

A few moments later, the guard strode off, muttering about time wasters, then went to check his pocketwatch, cursing when he found it missing, and whirling around looking for the strange boy he had just been talking to. But Harry had long since made himself scarce amongst the crowds of people, growing increasingly desperate as the hands on the guard's watch edged ever closer to 11 o'clock. He spotted a large family of redheads with trunks similar to his own, and followed behind them.

"– packed with muggles, of course –"

He heard their Mother say. Rolling his eyes at her lack of subtlety, he stopped when they did, and watched carefully to see what they did next. Annoyingly, a knot of muggle tourists passed by just as the first of the children disappeared, but judging from the direction he had been running in, Harry assumed he must have somehow run through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. It was logical really, he supposed, that platform nine and three-quarters would be magically lodged between 9 and 10. But why not just call it platform nine and a half? Maybe it was something to do with some complex magical theory that put the magic platform closer to the muggle platform 10… or maybe it was just another example of the slight odd logic that seemed to be common in the magical world. He would never even have noticed it before he had spent time in the muggle world, where everything seemed so much… straighter.

Harry paused as the next boy went through the barrier, refereeing a mental struggle between his ego, which wanted to just go through the barrier himself, and his new alter-ego who would certainly have been confused by this. Just as the last of the boys disappeared, his alter-ego won and he pushed his trolley up to the woman and her daughter.

"Excuse me," he began. The woman turned round and smiled at him, quickly taking in his trunk and Hedwig's cage.

"Hullo dear," she said, "First time at Hogwarts? My youngest boy is new this year too."

"I'm going next year!" The younger girl at her side piped up excitedly.

"Right," replied Harry. "Well, the thing is – erm, I don't know how to –"

"How to get onto the platform?" asked the woman kindly. Harry nodded. Pretending to be nervous was easy. You just didn't finish your sentences and everyone else would do the work for you.

"Not to worry, all you have to do it walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop, and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before me and Ginny."

Smiling at the woman gratefully, Harry turned and walked towards the barrier, trying to look casual so as not to draw the attention of the muggles. The barrier looked very solid. Surely he was going to bounce embarrassingly right off it… that woman didn't look like the type to play a joke on him though, so he sped up to a run and closed his eyes as the barrier loomed in front of him. But nothing happened. There was no crash, no angrily screeching Hedwig, no muggles tutting about animal abuse, no trunk crashing open and spilling his clothes and books everywhere.

He opened his eyes as he brought the trolley to a halt, and saw a large platform filled with people who, judging by their robes were either witches and wizards, or some very strange muggles. Funnily enough, he was betting on the former. Seeing the woman and her daughter appear through the barrier, he waved to them and called out his thanks, then pushed his trolley over to the nearest carriage door. Much more difficult though was actually lifting his trunk up the steep step onto the train. He tried several different methods, sure he looked like a first-class idiot, but, now filled with his heavy books, his clothes and all his equipment, it simply would not budge.

"Want a hand?" Came a voice behind him. Harry turned his head, and dropped the trunk painfully on his foot. He recognised the red-headed twins from his escapades in Knockturn Alley. He had taken their money-bags on the same day he had taken the stone from Hagrid. And now it seemed they were going to be nice too… he was starting to get the feeling that attending Hogwarts would be rather painful for his conscience. His painfully throbbing toe was just a bit of karma, he supposed.

With the twin's help, Harry's trunk was quickly stashed in one of the compartments. He reached up to push his hair out of his eyes, and one of the twin's eyes widened suddenly.

"Blimey," he began, "Is that– Are you –?"

"He _is_." Said the other. "Aren't you?"

Confused by their unfinished sentences, it took Harry a moment to realise what they were asking him. He decided to play dumb.

"What?"

"_Harry Potter."_

"Oh, him. I mean, yeah, I am."

Prepared as he had been for being famous, Harry was not ready for the way the twins gawped at him. He felt a little less bad about stealing their money as his face began to redden under their gaze.

"Fred, George? Are you there?"

Phew. The boys looked at Harry and his scar one more time, making him feel rather like an animal in a zoo, then jumped off the train and ran over to their mother.

Eavesdropping on their conversation, Harry snickered to himself as the twins teased their siblings. Perhaps Perfect Prefect Percy's shiny new badge might have to 'go missing' at some point.

"Hey Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Then again, perhaps he would be focussing more of his 'attentions' on those twins. He sank down in his seat so they wouldn't be able to see him through the window.

"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"_Harry Potter!_"

Harry groaned. Fanboys. At least their Mother forbade them from quizzing him. As if he'd be able to remember it anyway… except of course, he could a little bit. But it was just green light, and a horrible high-pitched laugh. Nothing he would tell anyone, especially not a couple of boys he had only just met.

The guards whistle sounded and the red-headed boys all jumped on the train. The little girl began to cry, glaring at her brother's jealously.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you lots of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

Harry snorted over their Mother's cry of outrage. Maybe the twin's weren't so bad. Or wouldn't be anyway, if they got over their 'Boy-who-lived' fixation.

oOoOoOo

Harry felt his excitement mounting as the train pulled out of London and the houses gave way to trees and fields. His compartment was empty though, so there was no-one to share his excitement with. Really, Harry wanted to go find some other first years and socialise a bit, but he knew he would have to start out playing shy, unused to his fame. It wasn't too hard to fake being unused to his fame, he had never been out in public with his real face before, so he had never had people fawning over his scar, and his hero status as a result of a day he couldn't even remember.

Then again, he had never socialised with other children using his own face before, so that was new too. He had spent most of his life hidden behind glamours, not allowed to leave the rooms he and his Dad shared without them. He knew it made sense, but it still felt strange. He kept panicking slightly, realising that he was out in public with his real face on, before he remembered that it was OK now. Though in truth, it felt more like a disguise now than any of the glamours he had worn in the past.

His musings were interrupted by the youngest boy of the red-haired family poking his head through the door.

"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Harry was fairly sure he was lying – what were the chances of him finding the only completely empty compartment on a completely full train?

"Really?" He asked. He had no problem with the boy sitting with him, but he at least wanted him to admit his motives.

"Well… Fred and George were chasing me with Lee's tarantula, I hate spiders see. So anyway, I know Mum told them not to bother you so I was hoping they'd leave me alone in here. You are… er… Harry potter, right?"

"Yeah that's me. Come in. Sorry if I was a bit grumpy, I'm kinda nervous about being famous and stuff."

The boy sat down awkwardly, clearly peeking at Harry's forehead but trying to pretend he wasn't. Then, seeing that Harry had noticed him looking he turned his head sharply and pretended to look out the window. Harry could see the tips of his ears going red.

He rolled his eyes and was about to start up a real conversation when the compartment door opened again and Ron jumped violently around to face the door.

"Don't worry Ron, we left Lee's tarantula back in our compartment." Came the amused voice of one of the twins. "Harry, I don't think we introduced ourselves, Fred and George Weasley. Don't worry, we both answer to either name. That's our brother, Ron. Ron, we'll be down the middle of the train if you need anything."

"Right," mumbled Ron, who clearly had no intention of going anywhere near them.

"OK, see you later then."

"Bye," said Harry and Ron together. The twins closed the compartment door and disappeared, and Harry turned back to Ron. Ron was trying not to look at his forehead again, so he decided to just get it over with.

"I guess you want to see my scar huh?" He smiled, trying to make it clear he wasn't annoyed (well, only a little bit). Ron's face went almost as red as his hair.

"Well, I… Sorry I just… you, you're… er…"

Harry laughed and pulled up his fringe to show the boy his forehead.

Ron's mouth dropped open.

"So that's where You-Know-Who –"

"Yeah," said Harry, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" asked Ron eagerly.

"No." Said Harry shortly. He didn't really want to talk about it to someone he barely knew. Yes, he knew pretend-Harry would probably have been desperate for a friend enough to tell him, but he idn't care. It was too personal.

Remarkably, Ron seemed to pick up on that, and returned to looking out the window, blushing again. Merlin he would be an awful crook, he couldn't keep a poker face to save his life!

Rolling his eyes again, he started up a conversation about Ron's family, trying to seem as fascinated by Ron's magical history as Ron was by his. It turned out Ron had five older brothers and a younger sister, along with a huge inferiority complex. Lovely.

"You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and Percy's old rat."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an ugly grey rat, which was so fast asleep it barely twitched as the boy tugged it none-too-gently out of his pocket.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn't aff– I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink again as he stared out the window again, clearly thinking he'd said too much. To his horror, Harry felt his own face warming too. The Weasleys were _poor_? And he'd nabbed _both_ the twin's moneybags… Merlin, that was probably their life savings or something ridiculous like that. When did he become the bad guy?

He decided to tell Ron a bit about pretend-Harry's backstory, that he'd never had anything new, or even proper birthday presents before a month ago. Weirdly, this seemed to cheer Ron up, but his eyes had widened comically when Harry talked about all the 'bits of crap' he had got for his birthdays. Of course, Harry realised – most eleven year old's parents wouldn't have let them swear, or sworn in front of them. Ron probably thought he was either a right hooligan, or a bit cool. Or both. Which, Harry mused with a small smile, was about right.

They talked a bit more about life as a wizard, and Harry was quite proud of himself for pretending to forget about saying 'You-Know-Who' and saying 'Voldemort' instead. From there, he even managed to work in a suitably nervous and self-depreciating comment about how much he had to learn, and how he was sure he would be the worst in his class. To his credit, Ron immediately jumped in to make him feel better, and they passed the next few minutes of the journey in friendly conversation before the door opened again. Ron's jump this time was considerably less violent, but he still turned sharply to check for giant tarantulas, just in case.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry immediately leapt to his feet, excited for this part of his act. He had decided that pretend-Harry would be so excited by both having his own money, and the existence of magical sweets that he would buy a bit of everything. So, eleven Sickles and seven Knuts later he staggered back into the compartment and tipped everything onto an empty seat.

"Hungry then?" Ron asked.

"Starving," replied Harry, taking a big bite out of a pumpkin pasty, and eyeing Ron's lumpy packet of sandwiches. Seeing Ron grimace at the filling, he quickly persuaded him to share his mounds of sweets and pasties instead. He had great fun pretending to be clueless about how to handle a chocolate frog, watching with amusement as it hopped out of the window and disappeared in the train's slipstream. What would happen to it now, he wondered. Would it survive hitting the floor and hop off unharmed… he slipped into a daydream about confused muggle scientists discovering a frog made out of chocolate. The news stories he made up in his head grew increasingly dramatic, until finally the wizarding world was exposed in a blaze of Every-Flavour-Beans and Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. It would be like 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory' – a film about a spectacular sweet-factory his Dad had made him watch as part of their research.

He shared his daydream with a curious Ron, pausing to explain the film, and the two of them giggled goofily, throwing a liquorice wand out the window to confuse the muggles even more. They were comparing chocolate frog cards and experimenting with Every-Flavour-Beans when the door of their compartment opened again. Ron hardly even jumped this time.

At the door was a round-faced boy, who looked rather tearful.

"Sorry," he began, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

They shook their heads and his lip trembled.

"I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"Do you want a hand looking?" asked Harry. He was keen to see the rest of the train, and maybe scout out a few of the other students.

"Erm… yes, thanks… are you sure?"

"Yeah, two heads are better than one right!"

"I guess, yeah. OK, thanks."

Ron didn't seem too keen to help them, so Harry left him behind in the compartment after telling him to help himself to the sweets.

The next compartment they went into had a group of a few giggling girls, and the bushy-haired girl Harry had seen in Diagon Alley. Her nose was buried in a book when they walked in, but when Neville explained that he'd lost his toad, she also offered to help look for him, looking relieved when they agreed and quickly skipping out of the compartment and closing the door on the simpering girls behind her.

"I'm Hermione Granger." She stuck her hand out and Neville took it gingerly. "Who are you?"

"Neville Longbottom." He supplied.

The girl turned to him and Harry sighed resignedly.

"Harry Potter."

Neville and Hermione both started, and Hermione gasped.

"Goodness, are you really? I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in –"

"I'm in books?" Harry made an 'ick' face. "Bet all they talk about is what a hero I am. They could probably tell me something I don't even know. I was only a baby when Vol– You-Know-Who attacked me, after all."

Hermione looked a little sheepish.

"I did think it was a little strange how much they seemed to know, given that you were the only surviving witness–" she began, then broke off, blushing again.

Harry laughed.

"Don't worry about it. Sorry I was a bit short I'm just not used to being 'famous' and it's a bit annoying when all anyone does is gape at my scar."

Sure enough, her and Neville's eyes popped straight up to his forehead. He rolled his eyes dramatically, making sure they noticed and showed them both his scar.

"So, how 'bout that toad."

oOoOoOo

Several compartments later, there was still no sign of a toad. Harry had carefully avoided introductions with full names, and Hermione at least had picked up on this quickly. The next compartment was empty, save for a pale blond boy, and what looked like a couple of gorillas.

"No we haven't seen a toad." The pale boy announced with an attempt at a regal air which really just made him look slightly twitchy with the way he screwed his nose up. "Why ever would you want one anyway? Disgusting creatures."

Neville looked slightly crestfallen as blondy's two gorillas guffawed uselessly.

"Who are you anyway? I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy." He pronounced his surname with emphasis, as if it was somehow important, and Harry knew (but couldn't let on) that from certain points of view, it kinda was. "That's Crabbe and Goyle." He stuck out his hand for them to shake.

"Neville Longbottom." Murmured Neville.

"Hermione Granger." Hermione smiled at the boy and his lip curled.

"You're a muggleborn, right?"

Hermione's smile slipped slightly.

"Yes…"

Malfoy pulled his hand out of hers rapidly and sneered at her as he turned to Harry.

"And you are?"

"Harry." Harry took his hand, grasping it firmly. "Harry Potter."

Malfoy's eyes, just like everyone else's shot up to his forehead, and Harry took advantage of his distraction to pop a finger under the strap of his no doubt very expensive watch, and slide it open.

"Well, Potter. You'll find out soon enough that _some _types of wizard are much better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Harry dropped Malfoy's hand, palming his watch and sliding it into his pocket.

"I think I can tell who the 'wrong sort' are for myself, thanks," he said sarcastically."Come on Hermione, Neville. Let's go find that toad."

As they walked through to the next compartment, Harry turned to Hermione.

"Don't worry Hermione, he's clearly just a douche. I'm sure no-one really worth knowing will care if you're a muggleborn. I'm half-blood, but muggle-raised so we're basically in the same position."

"And I'm a pureblood, like Malfoy." Neville chimed in. "And I certainly don't care."

"Thanks," Hermione said shakily. "He isn't very nice, is he?"

"He's a douche," said Harry firmly. Sure, most 11 year olds didn't swear, but sometimes people deserved it, and Malfoy certainly did.

He was bored of wandering around asking about the toad now. He just wanted to go back to his compartment and have some sweets. He'd been chewing on a piece of Drooble's Best, but its taste had now faded away to a vaguely unpleasant tang. In the next compartment was a group of older students, and an idea suddenly struck him.

"Neville, why don't we just ask those guys to find your toad with a 'Point me' spell?"

"Of course, why didn't I think of that?" exclaimed Neville. Hermione looked at them both curiously.

"What's that?" She asked.

"You use your wand to find something. You just say 'Point me,' and then what you're looking for and it'll work like a compass." He suddenly remembered he wasn't supposed to know that kind of thing. "I… er… Hagrid told me about it, he's the guy who took me to Diagon Alley."

"Well, good idea!" She said, knocking, then pushing open the door to the compartment.

"Excuse me, but Neville's lost his toad, and we were hoping you could help us find him. Harry said there's a spell you can use that will show us where he is."

One of the older girls said she would help them, so she came out of the compartment and they followed her wand back to Harry's original compartment. There, they found Ron clutching tightly to an alarmed-looking toad, seeming rather alarmed himself.

"Trevor!" cried Neville happily, rushing into the apartment to take the wriggling toad from Ron.

"Phew you're back!" he said as he handed the toad to Neville. "I spotted him about ten minutes ago, so I thought I'd grab him, cos I knew you'd be back here eventually. He's kinda slimy."

Neville laughed and thanked Ron, then went to get changed into his robes for their arrival at the school. Harry and Ron shooed a reluctant Hermione back to her own compartment so they could get changed themselves, and before they knew it they were pulling up in the station.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thought I'd put another note at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers!

1) There's a lot of lines in here copied directly or almost directly from the first book. I AM NOT J.K. ROWLING. If I did, I would long since have used my fortune to  
build a real version of Hogwarts. Duh.

2) The film 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory' is the old version of the film with singing and orange oompa-loompas.. not the new one with Johnny Depp  
and the awesome opening credits music!

3) I had great fun looking up how to slip someone's watch off! I even practised it on my own wrist by trying to pretend to shake hands with myself. Easier said than done. Turns out I wouldn't make a very good crook, I noticed EVERY TIME. Funny that.

4) THANK YOU for any and all reviews, favourites or follows, I really appreciate them and they're very encouraging.

5) and 6) Please review!

7) It had to go to seven, cos that's the most powerfully magical number doncha know. Just be thankful it's seven bullet-points not horcruxes!


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